


all the things yet to come are the things that have passed

by cosmicocean



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Humor, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Episode Fix-It: s15e20 Carry On, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, M/M, POV Castiel (Supernatural), POV Dean Winchester, i just wanted dean to have a cabin by a lake and a dog
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:22:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29824881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmicocean/pseuds/cosmicocean
Summary: “I mean, listen, we’re not good at the huggy feely crap. Any of us. And I get that, you know. And I get, I mean, I could’ve said something, you know, I know that. I get it. I get all of it  But you just, you give this whole speech, and you telling me that you just, you want what you know you can’t have? You never asked. And it was always, you know, it was always-“ he grits his teeth, taking a breath.“We always came back to each other. I said terrible things to you and you said terrible things to me and we fought and we killed and we died and always, always, we came back to each other. We figured it out. So you’re gonna come back. You’re gonna come back, Cas, so help me god, and we’re gonna figure it out. And I would have said yes. If you’d asked, I would have said yes.”AU after 15x19, where Dean has a little place in the middle of nowhere, a dog, and is trying to figure out a plan.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 14
Kudos: 197





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> Just a headsup that I wrote this right after 15x19, when I had much less understanding of what had gone on in the show since I stopped watching it than I do now, so some characters are going to be a little out of joint (Charlie especially I think) but honestly I like this fic the way it is, so I thought I would post it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a headsup that I wrote this right after 15x19, when I had much less understanding of what had gone on in the show since I stopped watching it than I do now, so some characters are going to be a little out of joint (Charlie especially I think) but honestly I like this fic the way it is, so I thought I would post it.

“You’re probably not helping your mysterious image when you drive this thing around, you know.”

Dean grins as they turn up the road away towards home, the Chinese food they’d picked up safely in Charlie’s lap, his arm resting outside of the window of the Impala. “Not my fault if they make assumptions.”

“ _When,_ Dean. _When_ they make assumptions. Town this size everybody talks about everybody.” Charlie grins back. “Especially mysterious wealthy recluse Dean Winchester with his fancy dog and his sexy lesbian best friend who comes to visit sometimes.”

“You sure that last part’s in there?”

“Oh, I’m _positive_ that that last part is in there.”

“And my dog isn’t fancy.”

“He’s spoiled _._ That makes him fancy.”

“Scrapper’s not _spoiled._ He’s got his own business! I’m not gonna interfere in the dog’s business, Charlie.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I invite you over to celebrate the last of the work on the cabin and you insult me and my dog. You’re a dick.”

“ _Last of the work._ You varnished one of the bookshelves.”

"Yeah, and that’s the last of the work!”

“You finished everything else months ago!”

“You wanna sit on my couch and eat Chinese food while we watch _Star Trek_ or not?”

“Are you gonna let me in the house after I judged your dog?”

“Thin ice, Bradbury.”

Charlie laughs, looking out her window.

“You did find a nice little spot, Dean,” she says quietly as they come up on the lake. “I like it here.”

“Yeah.” The road up to the house is long, just as he’d wanted it. The single story cabin made of wood with a long roof extending over a porch and propped up with wooden columns sits right next to the lake, a little dock extending out into the water. The cabin is surrounded by trees, nobody for miles. Dean remembers when Sam and Bobby helped him build the shed nearby to hold his fishing gear, lots of bitching back and forth about who was supposed to be holding what nails. Doesn’t look too bad, kinda surprisingly. “Me, too.”

Scrapper comes trotting up to meet them, the Border Collie happily reacting to Charlie as though she hadn’t shown up at the cabin with her truck before they went into town. Charlie gives him a scratch on the head. “Hey, Scraps.”

“Scrapper,” Dean says sternly. “Cause he’s a fighter.”

Charlie gives him the same look Sam had given him when he’d picked Scrapper out last year and said the same thing, sitting on the ground with the puppy and lifting his paws like he was a boxer. “Maybe his business is being called Scraps.”

“Okay, you get to carry the food.”

“How’s Stevie?” Dean asks, pulling a beer and a Coke out of the fridge. He hadn’t known very much about houses, but he wouldn’t have expected that he would have liked “open concept”, once it was explained to him. He likes this, though, how the wooden walls flow from the kitchen into the dining room into the living room. It’s brightly lit. He’d loved the Bunker, but he knew when he moved it was time for plenty of windows.

“She’s pretty great.” Charlie accepts the beer Dean hands her as he sits next to her, spilling a little duck sauce on her plate next to her teriyaki beef. “I like her a lot. We’re gonna move in together.”

“Hey, that’s fantastic.” He inclines his Coke towards her. “Congratulations. Do I have to buy you a housewarming present or something?” He’s heard that’s something that people usually do.

“We’d take some more knives, if you know a guy.”

“Hey, you got it.” Dean takes a sip of his Coke. Charlie is giving him an amused look. “What?”

“I’m just as excited as everybody else that you’re slowing down on the beer but that doesn’t mean you only drink soda now.”

“I don’t see why not.”

“Cavities, Dean.”

“So Garth’ll dentist me up! It’ll be fine.”

“Do you know what water looks like?”

“ _Do you know what water looks like?_ ” he mimics. “What, are you Sam now?”

Charlie rolls her eyes. “How’s Sam?”

“He and Eileen found a nice little place. He’s thinking about going back to school, in between the hunts.”

“That’d be good for him.” She stands up. “I’m getting a napkin, do you want one?”

“Sure.”

Charlie stands and heads into the kitchen to grab a couple paper towels. She maneuvers around the dining room table, graciously not mentioning the stacks of books and meticulous notes that are there. “You seen _Picard_ yet?”

“No. Is it good?”

“I mean, it’s not _Next Gen_ good, but, you know, it’s good. I’ll always watch anything with more Picard. Seven of Nine’s there.”

“No shit.” Dean takes the paper towel. “Had a bit of a thing for Seven of Nine.”

“Twinsies.” Charlie gestures towards the remote. “Fire it up.”

Dean feeds and takes out Scrapper while Charlie gets changed into her PJs. Dean had made sure when he bought the cabin that it had three bedrooms. One for him, a guest room, and one for when he figures it out. He stands on the porch, waiting for Scrapper, breathing in the night air. Pine needles and lake water. The weather’s supposed to be nice the next couple days. Maybe he’ll go fishing.

Scrapper trots up to the porch. Dean gives him a scratch behind the ears. “Good man.” They head back inside, and Dean locks the door for the evening.

“You want to watch any more TV or are you tired?” Dean asks.

Charlie looks up at him, now comfortably in her PJs. “I’m pretty tired,” she says. “Are you heading to bed?”

“Yeah, in a little bit.”

Charlie gives him a small smile that tells Dean she knows what he’s going to be doing, and she walks up to him to stand on her tiptoes and give him a kiss on the cheek. “Sleep well.”

“Yeah, you too, kid.”

The first thing Dean does when Charlie leaves is clean the kitchen, putting the plates in the small dishwasher. Then he throws all Scrapper’s toys back in the toy basket. One of these days he’s gonna figure out how to train him to put them back in there himself.

Then he settles into his chair at the table and pulls out his notebook, squinting a little. At some point he’s gonna need glasses. He’s not sure at what point he started getting old. He definitely never expected to.

Bobby had mailed him three new books this week and he’s still working through the first one. It’s slow going- Sam had always been the research guy, and he’d had to start learning new languages and new terms and new symbols. But he’s getting better as time goes on, and by now he knows the symbol for “the Empty” in five different languages.

Dean takes meticulous notes for about an hour, writing down sentences or passages that look relevant, switching between notebooks sometimes. His notebooks are ordered by subject so if anything in the text shifts, he’s got to be everything in the right place. After that hour he gets up and he heads to bed. He’s gonna need to make breakfast for Charlie tomorrow and he should get to sleep at a reasonable hour this time. He checks one more time to see if Scrapper’s water bowl needs to be refilled and then heads to his room, closing the door behind him.

Dean’s still in the process of decorating his room. The shiny wood walls have very little on them. But he’s got photos of everybody up there, everyone he’s loved and lost, and sometimes he thinks that’s enough.

“Charlie seems like she’s doing well,” he says, rummaging around in his dresser for sweatpants and a tee shirt. “Lighter and happier than I’ve seen her for some time. Which is pretty cool.” He finds them and tugs his shirt off. “Nice to just hang out and shoot the shit with someone about TV, you know? I can’t remember such a long stretch of mostly being able to just shoot the shit with people. I never got you into _Next Gen,_ did I? I kinda always figured you were humoring me with the original series. But you’d like _Next Gen_.” He tugs his sweatpants on. “Not sure if there’s much in the books Bobby sent me, yet. I’ll know better once I can go through all of them and compare my notes. There’s gotta be something. I was thinking…” Dean gets into bed and leans his back against the headboard, tilting his head back against the wall. “I was thinking about trying to make a deal with the Empty. Old… switcheroo type thing. Something like your deal. But I, uh, figured you’d kick my ass. Was tempting, cause, you know, even if you hated me you’d be alive. And you’re always the one doing the sacrificing out of the two of us and I figured it was sort of… my turn. But I also figured you’d just try some deal of your own and we’d be right back where we started from. Seems to be how it goes, when a Winchester makes a deal.” He closes his eyes. “I don’t know if you can hear me but I’ll keep doing it. Every night. Doesn’t matter anyway, right, usually people don’t know if someone can hear them when they’re praying. I’m sorry that it’s been almost a year, Cas. I’ll figure it out.”

Dean turns off the lamp by his bedside and settles in to sleep.

“I’m thinking about getting really good at this,” Dean says when Charlie stumbles into the kitchen in the morning, yawning. “Like, _really_ good at this.”

“Sure. Everyone needs a hobby. Seems like a fun one.” She peers at what he’s doing. “Is that eggs benedict?”

“Yeah.” He points at her with his spoon as he puts the hollandaise over it. “You know how much butter goes into hollandaise? This is the kind of shit that’ll kill you.”

“Thought you were a scrambled eggs man.”

“I am, but, you know, trying new things.” Dean slides her a plate. “Quit your bitching and eat your food.”

They sit comfortably at the breakfast bar, Charlie seeming to understand that the dining room table is for research.

“Got a thing up in Poughkeepsie,” she tells him, swirling her English muffin around in her yolk and hollandaise. “Vampire nest. Stevie and I were talking about heading up there. You in?”

“What, and ruin your romantic getaway?”

“Dean.” Her face is serious. “We’d love to have you.”

“I know.” He takes his last bite. “Sorry, Charlie. I don’t think I do that anymore.”

“Thought I’d ask.” She gives an extremely long-suffering look to his beverage. “Orange juice is customary, you know.”

“It’s Sprite! Tastes like fruit.”

“It really doesn’t.”

“I’m gonna remind you to quit your bitching.”

Charlie packs her backpack while Dean loads the dishwasher. He’s loading in the detergent when she says abruptly “I worry about you out here on your own sometimes”.

“Yeah.” He closes up the dishwasher and presses the button on it. “I figured.”

“I just… I don’t want…” He doesn’t miss the look she sneaks at the table. “I don’t want you to get too far inside your head.”

He leans against the breakfast bar next to her, crossing his arms.

“I lived with my dad almost my whole young life,” he tells her. “Couple of times I went off on my own, but almost all Dad. Then almost all Sam. Even when Sam was gone, I was with Lisa. I think I gotta live on my own for a while, Charlie. It’s…” he struggles to find the words. He’s trying to do this, open up a little more, piece by piece, but it still feels like pulling teeth. “It’s good for me to have my own space. I like it. I like the feeling of nobody being around for miles but me and Scrapper.”

Charlie nods slowly.

“You’ll call me?” she asks. “Any time you need me? I’m only a couple hours away.”

“Yeah, I know. Thanks.”

She holds out her arms and the two of them give each other a hug, Dean lifting her off her feet a little bit.

“Have a good time in Poughkeepsie,” he says. “Say hey to Stevie for me.”

“I will. I’ll, um.” She gestures at the table. “I’ll keep my ear to the ground. Let you know.”

“Thanks.”

Charlie reaches out and pets Scrapper. “Keep an eye on him.”

“You talking to me or you talking to the dog?”

“Yes.” Charlie throws up the live long and prosper as she walks backwards out the door and Dean does the same.

The winter had taught Dean that he should have wood pre-chopped for the days he didn’t feel like it. Garth had thought it was funny that it didn’t occur to him that he might have to chop wood constantly during the winter if he didn’t have any ready, but what does Garth know about wood stoves, anyway? He doesn’t actually mind chopping wood. Thinks it’s funny that this is the least lethal thing he’s ever done with an ax, or the longest he’s gone without doing anything more fatal with one.

So in the afternoon, after he’s done more reading with one of Bobby’s books, he gives Scrapper a bone to work on while he’s sitting on the porch and heads out to start in on it.

“Didn’t you once give me shit for looking like a lumberjack?” Dean asks as he swings the ax. “Joke’s on me, huh?” He can see the look Cas would have given him at that one, the way his eyes would crinkle at the corners as he tried not to look smug because he knew if he did Dean would point out that it wasn’t very angelic of him. “I’m making you do this for a while. See how snippy you get then about lumberjacks.” He stops praying then because it’s hard to pray and chop wood at the same time.

“ _You?_ Seriously? Mr. The Only Meal I Need is a Slice of Pie and White Castle wants to learn how to cook?”

Dean hopes the eyeroll translates down the phone. “Yes, Sam, I want to learn how to cook. Did I judge you when you said you wanted to learn how to be like, uh, the, uh, the old woman from that baking show?” He hadn’t, as a matter of fact, and had bought all the cookbooks with her name on it he could find for Christmas and sent it to Sam’s house. “I liked cooking at the Bunker. So I want to learn how to do things other than burgers and steak.”

“I’m not _judging_ you." Dean can hear him putting the vacuum away. It’s apparently the big cleaning day over at their place. “I think it’s nice.”

“Yeah, well.” Dean pulls his sheets out of the laundry basket. “I found a YouTube guy who does basics. Gonna try and make homemade mac and cheese, maybe some stuff for pasta.” He points even though he knows Sam can’t see him. “I refuse to put kale in things, though. I won’t do it, Sammy.”

“Nobody’s holding a _gun_ to your head demanding you put kale in things, Dean, and kale is actually-“

There’s something to be said about how solid their relationship is these days, Dean thinks as he hits the little red button on the screen, cause otherwise Sam might get real shitty about Dean hanging up on him like this.

“The recipe called for making your own chicken stock,” Dean says, chopping carrots as he watches the bolognese tutorial. “But that seems a little advanced for where I’m at right now, you know? I mean, maybe not really, but I dunno, small steps. Storebought’ll be fine for now.” He accidentally cuts one of the pieces of carrot wrong. “Fuck.” He tosses one to Scrapper. “Your lucky day, bud.” He picks up his onion and squints at it. “Hey, at least the knife skills come in handy for something other than ganking demons, huh?” He gets to work on the onion. “So I worked my way through the second book, too. Not much there, either. I’m keeping notes, though. I know I can think of something with enough time. Everyone’s keeping their ear to the ground for me.” He dumps the onions and the carrots in the pan with the pancetta. “Hey, we cooked together that one time in the Bunker, you remember? I was making burgers and you wanted to learn how to cook so I, uh, I walked you through it, you’d just gotten out of the shower and you were in sweatpants and I said _you don’t even really need to eat that often_ and you said _I know but I would like to know how to do it regardless_ and I kinda thought-“ his words choke off in his throat and he puts down his wooden spoon for a second to brace his hands against the counter.

 _I kinda thought for a second you just wanted to do something with me_ , he’d thought. _I kinda thought that maybe you just wanted the two of us to do something together on our own, just for a second, before reality hit. And now maybe it turns out I was right._

“I’ll have more recipes to show you when you get back,” Dean says instead, picking the spoon back up. “I think this bolognese might really work out. Can’t go wrong with a meat sauce.”

Dean’s refilling the birdhouse when he hears a soft whooshing noise that’s pretty familiar and he grins as he lowers the bag of birdseed.

“Hey, kid,” he says, turning as Jack walks up towards the house, holding a small square box in his hand. “Been a while. You wanna be the one to hang up the birdhouse?”  
Jack’s face lights up. “Yes.”

Dean nods towards the birdhouse on the porch. “Go nuts.” He hefts the bag and puts it in the shed, closing the door as Jack carefully hangs it from the tree over near the window in the dining room. He’s got a set of binoculars set up there so he can see what new kinds are there. Sam’s expressed surprise that he’s become a “freaky bird guy” but, well, he’d really missed the birds when Chuck sent them away.

“You want something to eat?” Dean asks as he walks back towards the house, Jack standing on the porch with his hands linked behind his back. “Work up an appetite god-ing around?”

“I’d like to eat something you made.”

He’s so Cas’s kid, and Dean guesses it’s gotta count for something that it’s not the kind of thought that slows him down anymore. “Sure, let’s go and see what’s in the kitchen.”

“I brought you pie,” Jack tells him as they head through the door. Dean brightens.

“Really?”

“There’s a place in Winnipeg that’s really good. I thought I would stop in before I came.” He puts it on the breakfast bar. “It’s apple.”

“Oh!” Dean claps him on the shoulder. “Good man. How do you feel about pancakes?”

Jack smiles. “I would love some pancakes.”

Dean knows. It’s Jack’s favorite food. He starts pulling ingredients out. “So what have you been up to?”

“Wandering around the magnitude and majesty of creation.” Jack sits on a stool. “Beholding the wonder of the world.”

“Yeah?” Dean had been a little wrong footed the first time Jack answered with something like that. But Jack’s been to visit him enough in the past year that he’s able to roll with it better. “Sounds good. Do anything fun?”

“I liked the Grand Canyon.” Jack accepts the glass of water that Dean slides his way. “And there is something about the simple grandeur of Antarctica.”

“Sammy and Cas and I went to the Grand Canyon once. I liked it. Real… orange.”

“Yes.”

“You should come down for the day at some point.” Dean whisks the batter. Cinnamon and nutmeg are the secret. “There’s a carnival that comes through in September every year here. Lots of fried dough, carny games, whole nine yards. We can go out. Make a day of it. Sam and Eileen can come down.”

“I think I’d like that.”

“Good. Think it over.” Dean pulls the whipped cream and sprinkles out.

Jack beams. “Ooh, sprinkles!”

“Yeah, I know you like them.”

“Do you… have those in case I come over?”

“Well.” Dean flips a pancake. “Yeah, I guess, you know, I know you like them, so, you know, in case you come by, I thought I’d have them on hand.”

Dean can hear the smile in Jack’s voice and is kinda glad he’s busy making the pancakes because how big that kind of smile gets always makes him feel awkward and a little embarrassed. “Thank you, Dean.”

“Yeah. No problem.”

Jack stands up and walks over to the table. “How goes the work?”

“It’s okay. I’ve got a lot of notes. Most of it’s anecdotal, you know, not a lot of solid stuff on how to pull someone out of the Empty, but any info is good info, right?”

“Of course.” He looks over at Dean. “I’d tell you if I’d heard anything.”

“Yeah, kid, I know.”

“I’ve been looking and asking.”

“Jack.” Dean lowers the spatula and looks him in the eye. “I know. It’s okay.”

Jack nods, shoving his hands in his pockets and looking down.

“The Empty and God aren’t really supposed to cross paths,” he mutters. “I can’t do anything to force its hand.”

“I don’t want you to do something that’d land you in hot water.” Dean returns his gaze to the pan. “I don’t want you to, to start a war or anything. I just want you to keep an ear out. Get some plates down for me, will you?”

Jack obliges, standing next to him and reaching up to the cabinet.

“I don’t blame you for me not figuring something out yet, kid. You’re not at fault, you know that, right?”

Jack shrugs.

“Jack. It’s not your fault. Any of it. I don’t hold you accountable for Cas not being here. And I don’t blame you for him being gone in the first place.” Dean turns the burner off and moves the pan to a cool one. “It ain’t anything you did wrong. Or anything you’re _doing_ wrong. Sometimes life just pulls some crap, alright? Sometimes it just screws you.” Dean turns to him. “Wasn’t your fault. And I’m gonna get him back. So quit beating up on yourself, sit your ass down, and eat some pancakes.” He points at him with the spatula. “I don’t give two shits about thwacking God with a spatula, Jack.”

Jack smiles, looking a little lighter. “Okay.”

“Damn right okay.” The two of them sit on stools next to each other, Dean snagging a Coke on the way.

“I saw Sam and Eileen the other day.”

“Yeah?” Dean pulls a couple pancakes off the stack. “How’re they doing?”

“Pretty well. They got a Lab.”

“Kid gets a house, then he gets a dog. He’s gotta copy everything I do.”

Jack smiles, a little too tranquil to be believable. “Sam says his dog is better than your dog.”

“He _what?_ ” Dean scowls. “I’m gonna kick his ass.”

“I like Scraps very much.”

“His name is-“ he sighs. “Whatever, point is, no dumbass dog that Sam’s got is gonna be better than Scrapper. He’s a _champion_ , alright? King amongst kings.” On hearing his name, Scrapper trots up and Dean tosses him a piece of pancake.

“I bet he’s good at fetch.” Jack almost absentmindedly snaps his fingers as Dean raises the Coke to his lips and he’s about to ask him what’s up with that when the beverage passes his lips and he groans, putting the bottle back down.

“You gotta be kidding me.”

“You need better fluids.”

Dean shakes the Coke bottle a little, now filled with water. “Seriously?”

“You’re too old to be eating the way you do.”

Dean scowls again. “I’m not _old_. And aren’t you trying to be all hands-off?”

“I don’t mind the exception every now and then.” Jack swirls his piece of pancake in his whipped cream and syrup. “I like that you’re not really drinking anymore, though.”

“So you should leave me alone about the soda.”

Jack ignores that. “It’s not an easy thing to give up. I’m proud of you.”

Dean swallows, poking at his pancake.

“I’m not _completely_ done drinking,” he mumbles. “I just do it less.”

“Still. It counts for something.”

“I’m, uh.” Dean doesn’t look at him while he says it. “I’m proud of you, too, you know. If you were anyone else, that kind of power would’ve been, well. Wouldn’t have been good. But you’re, y’know, you. So it was fine. And I’m really proud that you’re the kind of kid where it… would have been fine.”

He sees Jack smiling out of the corner of his eye.

“You’ve gotten better at saying this stuff,” he says quietly.

He shrugs, not wanting to say _if I’d been better at saying this stuff all along, I’d have gotten the words out when it mattered most._ “I’m trying,” he says instead. “Sucks.”

“Regardless. It means something that you’re trying.”

Dean decides he’s done with the touchy-feely. “You wanna go out and fish?”

“Yes. I’d like that.”

Fishing is a silent activity for Jack and Dean. They’ve done this a couple times when Jack’s come over, and neither of them are especially loquacious for it. Instead they sit quietly and comfortably at the end of the dock.

This is the kind of peace he’d imagined sometimes back at the Bunker sometimes, he thinks. Sam happy and fulfilled. No one out to kill them. Dean sitting here with his kid, fishing on a clear sunny day. It’s the kind of peace that’s almost perfect, and will be perfect, once he figures it out.

Jack catches a fish much bigger than Dean’s.

“Did you use some god magic on this?” Dean says when they both lay their fish down on the dock.

“No. I don’t have any interest in using god magic for this.” Jack stretches a little. “I hope you enjoy the fish.”

“You don’t want yours?”

“No. I just wanted something to do with you.” Jack holds out his arms. “I have to go.”

Dean pulls him in for the hug he’s looking for. “Travel safe.” He can’t help but say it even though he knows Jack is pretty much incapable of _not_ traveling safe.

“I will,” Jack answers contentedly before pulling back. “Good luck this weekend.”

Dean falters a little but hoists the smile back on his face. “Thanks, kid.”

Jack gives him one of his little waves where his hand just goes up and doesn’t move before he turns and starts heading down the road. He doesn’t vanish right off. Dean’s not surprised. Jack likes the walk. Dean watches him go.

“He’s a good kid,” he murmurs. “Three of us raised a good kid, Cas.”

Then he picks up the fish and heads for the house.

Three days later, Dean feels more than anything what Jack meant when he said _good luck,_ because ultimately, he’s gonna need it.

Yesterday he’d gotten everything he needed at the grocery store and froze his keys in a small block of ice and left them in the freezer. Considering how bad he wants a beer right now, it was the right call. He’d had the obligatory phone call with Sam, who’d seemed far more concerned about talking about how Dean was doing than he had talking about how the day had sucked in general. He’d texted with Charlie and with Garth, reassuring them he was fine. He’d done a little fishing, eaten what was left of the frankly fucking spectacular pie that Jack had brought with him. Mostly he’d tried to push through the day, and now he’s here, thinking about how badly he wants this water to be whiskey, staring straight through one of the books from Bobby, idly tapping the pen on the table.

Eventually Dean gives up and admits to himself he’s not getting any work done tonight and closes the book, putting the pen on the table. He heads over to the couch instead and sits on it, but he ends up staring into nothing from there just as much as he was at the table. He looks over through the window instead. He can’t see anything out of it thanks to the sun having set, but the trees are out there, which brings him a kind of comfort.

“I saw a bluejay,” he says, tapping his finger on his water bottle. “Out by the bird feeder. So. That’s something.” It’s been a long time since he didn’t know how to start off a prayer to Cas. “So, a year, huh? One year. I’d like to say I got a lot of work done today to, uh, mark the occasion, but I think that’s pretty unlikely.” He stares down at the water bottle. “I’m still kinda pissed at you. I miss you. And I want you to come-“ _Home._ “Back. And I’m gonna get you back. But… dammit, Cas.” He leans forwards like he’s actually arguing with him, talking to him in person. “You couldn’t have _told_ me? About your deal? We could have figured something out with you actually here. We could have worked something out. You could have let Jack tell us, even if you didn’t want to. And even if you weren’t gonna tell me, even if you couldn’t-“ he grits his teeth and puts his water bottle down on the floor.

“You could have asked, Cas,” he says, and for a second, he thinks he might leave it there.

Nope.

“I mean, listen, we’re not good at the huggy feely crap. Any of us. And I get that, you know. And I get, I mean, I could’ve said something, you know, I know that. I get it. I get all of itBut you just, you give this whole speech, and you telling me that you just, you want what you know you can’t have? You never _asked._ And it was always, you know, it was always-“ he grits his teeth, taking a breath.

“We always came back to each other. I said terrible things to you and you said terrible things to me and we fought and we killed and we died and always, _always_ , we came back to each other. We figured it out. So you’re gonna come back. You’re gonna come back, Cas, so help me god, and we’re gonna figure it out. And I would have said yes. If you’d asked, I would have said yes.”

Dean just sits there for a moment, eyes closed, and a part of him thinks that maybe it’s just what Cas was waiting for, maybe he’ll hear that soft whooshing of wings and the _hello, Dean_ and they can fucking talk this through and everything will be _fine-_

But seconds pass and nothing happened, so Dean slowly lays down on the couch and closes his eyes, waiting slowly for sleep to come.

When Dean leaves the house, locking the door behind him, he stops dead in the doorway when he sees the mushrooms that have abruptly cropped up in the grass near the porch in a specific pattern.

_7:00?_

Dean sighs, rolling his eyes, and heads back into the house. He takes a bowl and picks all the mushrooms before he heads back in and puts the bowl on the counter. He flips through one of the cookbooks until he finds something, writes down the ingredients, and returns to the car.

The rest of the day progresses pretty normally. He just swings by the butcher’s and picks up a little extra steak. Mows the lawn. Erases one key little bit of the demon wards he keeps up. Cleans the windows because he’s having a hard time seeing the birds. Once he comes up on the evening, he pulls up his cookbook and reads the recipe over a couple times.

There’s a pleasant little melody of a knock on his door. She could walk right in but he’s pretty sure she knocks just to fuck with him. Dean walks up to the door and opens it.

“I bet you think you’re real funny,” he says.

Rowena blinks at him, part of her red hair piled on top of her head in an elegant bun. the rest cascading over her shoulder, wearing a long sleeved and long skirt black dress. “Since when do you wear those?” she asks, gesturing at the small reading glasses on the bridge of his nose.

He scowls. “Shut up. They’re fine.”

“They’re _adorable._ ” She stands on her tiptoes and gently brushes them with a finger. “Look at you.”

He smacks her hand away. “You wanna come in or not?”

Rowena walks in daintily, holding a wine glass. As she rests it on his breakfast bar, it easily fills up with red wine. Dean holds up the bowl of mushrooms with one hand.

“Are these poisonous?” He shakes them at her. “I’m gonna remind you that if you kill me that’s gonna put a real damper on brunch dates or whatever it is you do with Sammy.”

She sighs. “Not even a little bit of trust, Dean Winchester?”

He shakes the bowl again.

“ _No_ , they’re not _poisonous_.”

“Awesome.” He throws them in the garlic butter sauce he’s making. “You can just _call_ , you know, I’m _assuming_ you have a phone in hell. Hell, I would be _surprised_ if they didn’t let the queen of hell have a fuckin’ phone.”

“Ah, but this is so much more fun.” She takes a sip of her wine. “And Samuel and I _do_ have brunch dates.”

Scrapper comes up and eyes Rowena warily. He never seems sure how to feel about Rowena, whether she smells like friend or smells like foe. She pulls a dog treat out of what might have been thin air and tosses it to him and, satisfied for now, he trots off back to his bed with it.

“Don’t feed my dog shit. He gets two meals every day.”

“Samuel says you feed this pup table scraps like it’s your day job.”

“Sammy’s a narc.”

“So? How goes the quest?”

“Still nothing, sort of.” Dean prepares the steak. “I’ve got some ideas, but nothing concrete yet. You still got nothing?”

Her voice softens a little. “I’d have let you know, Dean.”

“Yeah. I know. Just thought I’d ask.”

“I have something of a soft spot for Castiel. He was so… funny. A funny little angel with a funny little human who didn’t know how to talk about their funny little lives.”

Dean pulls a glass down for his water. “Yeah, hilarious.”

“I certainly think so.” She swirls her wine. “Do you think perhaps you’re being a little obsessive?”

Dean turns the steak over. “Yup.”

“Well, so long as you’re aware. Be wary of, you know-“ she gestures a little freely with her glass. “Allowing it to _consume_ you and whatnot.”

“Don’t worry.” He points his tongs at her. “If you see me, it won’t be for a while yet.”

Rowena rolls her eyes. “Dean Winchester, your son is our father who art in-“ she waves a hand. “Wherever it is he goes, I have some _pretty_ significant doubts you’ll be ending up in _my_ realm.”

Dean shrugs. “Never know.” He pulls the steak off the pan and leaves it to rest, standing across from Rowena with his water, leaning against the breakfast bar. “I saw him a couple weeks ago. Seems like he’s doing well.”

“Oh, he’s been busy. Rebuilding Heaven into something a little freer.” Rowena shifts on her stool. “Have you never heard of a chair with a back?”

“I like the stools.” Rowena’s stool grows a long and elegant back that she settles into comfortably. Dean narrows his eyes. “You’d better change that back when you go.”

“I rather like the idea of having my own special chair when I come to visit.”

“I bet you do.”

“She says we’re gonna have her over for dinner when I get you back,” Dean says as he cleans up the dishes after Rowena leaves. “She didn’t ask. Never asks. But, well, I like her, you know? Now that the stakes are lower. I like having her for dinner. Even when she’s giving me shit.” He puts the detergent into the dishwasher and closes it up. “I, uh. I got an idea, Cas. It’s not… it’s a rough idea. And I don’t even know if it’ll work. But I’ve been looking over my notebooks, you know, instead of the books I’ve got, just looking at my notes and, well. It’s an idea. No decisions yet. But I think… I think I’m gonna try it. And I’m hopeful that it’ll work.” Dean steps away from the dishwasher. “So, y’know. Get ready.”

Sam’s Labrador Retriever, the second he jumps out of Sam and Eileen’s car, is extremely enthusiastic.

“Easy,” Dean says, a little amused. “Hey there, buddy.”

“Teresa, down,” Sam instructs as he tugs his duffel out of the car.

“What, you named your dog with a people name?”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Yes.”

“Who’s idea was _that_?”

“Sam’s,” Eileen says firmly, smiling at Dean. “Hi, Dean.”

“Hey, Eileen.” Dean gives her a hug. “Good to see you.”

“Lots of dogs have people names,” Sam says petulantly. “It’s not my fault you named your dog something dumb.”

“Hey.” He points at Sam as he releases Eileen, approaching him. “You take that back. Scrapper is-“

“Scrapper is a _stupid-_ “

“Whatever.” The two of them hug. “It’s good to see you, Sam.” He hasn’t seen him since the winter when they came for New Year’s. “And your weird dumb dog.”

“It’s not rocket science to figure out that Labs aren’t that smart, Dean.” He slaps him on the back before he pulls back. “But it’s good to see you, too, Dean.”

“It’s a nice collection of cookbooks,” Sam observes about the shelf over the kitchen sink that’s been gaining more books over the past few months as he walks into the living room.

“Yeah.” Dean settles into the couch, putting his feet up on the coffee table. “Yeah, I’ve got some more stuff under my belt. I’ve been, uh, I’ve been thinking about trying canapés.”

“Oooh,” Eileen says. “Fancy.”

 _Shut up,_ he signs and she laughs.

“I’ve been trying to make eclairs.” Sam pulls a face. “I keep fucking it up.”

“He does,” Eileen confirms. “But he’s trying.”

Sam gives her an exasperated but fond look. When they had first gotten together and Dean had first been around the two of them, he’d had to pretend to be happy while being just a little bit bitter that the two of them had gotten to reunite. Now it’s a year on and he’s processed his shit better, and he’s just happy that Sam’s happy.

“How goes looking for schools?” he asks. “Did you guys figure out what you want to do?”

“Psychology,” Eileen answers. “I want to be a shrink for other hunters. God knows we need one.”

“Hey, that’s a great idea.” Dean reaches out to fist bump her, which she does. “Good choice.”

“Thinking maybe working my way up to law school?” Sam shrugs. “Not sure yet.”

“We’re gonna start out at a community college and see how it goes.”

“That’s nice.” He points between the two of them. “I’m proud of both of you.”

“What about you?”

Dean shrugs. “I fix cars for people in town sometimes. But I think I might just… I dunno.” He looks back. “I kinda like being retired. I mean, we’ve got the money from Charlie to just kinda… do whatever we want for the rest of our lives, right? So I might just… do whatever I want for the rest of my life.” He’s gonna keep learning how to cook. He thinks he might like to learn how to do something with woodworking. He figures he’s just gonna… find new things he wants to learn how to do until he dies. He’ll help Cas with whatever he wants to learn how to do, too, unless he wants to do that stuff by himself.

“That sounds good for you,” Sam says quietly.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think so.” He claps his hands together. “Okay, who wants burgers?”

When dinner’s done and it’s getting on near bedtime, Eileen announces she’s going to bed.

“I’m gonna stay up for a while.” Dean puts away the controllers they were all using for Mariokart. “But you guys sleep well.”

“Nah,” Sam says. “I think I’ll stay up for a while, too.”

Dean blinks, a little taken aback. Eileen looks completely unsurprised.

“Sleep well, Dean.” She gives him a kiss on the cheek, squeezes Sam’s hand, and heads to bed.

Dean stands in the living room, a little at a loss as Sam heads over to the dining room table.

“Which books were you working on?” he asks.

“Uh.” Dean gestures at two of the ones near the window. “Those ones.”

“You got a fresh notepad?”

“In one of the drawers in the kitchen.”

Sam pulls it out along with a pen and pulls up one of the chairs. “So let’s get cracking.”

Dean gapes at him for another moment, then shakes himself out of it and sits down next to him with his notebook.

“You’ve never said I was crazy for it.”

Sam glances up from where he’s taking notes. It’s got to be approaching midnight now, but Sam doesn’t seem particularly tired. “What?”

“I mean.” Dean drums his pen on the table. “Charlie’s kinda danced around it, Rowena’s asked a little about it, Bobby’s… flat out said it. But you haven’t said I’m crazy. Or that I’m gonna fail.”

“I mean.” Sam leans back a little, wincing as he stretches his back. “You _could_ fail. I just don’t know that you’re _gonna_ fail.”

“That’s not what I’m asking.”

“I know.” Sam settles back into his chair. “Dean, if it was Eileen, I’d take as long as I needed to try. And it’s not like. Y’know, it’s not the only thing that you’re doing. You’re learning how to cook. You’re fishing. You’ve got this whole… thing with the bird feeder.”

“I like the birds,” Dean cuts in, feeling a little needled at the same time he’s feeling a little warmed by Sam’s words.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Point is, if it was just this, I’d be more worried. But it’s not just this. You’re just… doing what I’d do. And living as close to how you’d want as you’d like.”

Dean swallows, then leans over to clink his bottle of Sprite with Sam’s bottle of beer.

“Thanks, man.”

“No problem.” He looks back down at the notebook. “We’re gonna have to call it quits at some point, though, cause my back is killing me.”

Sam and Eileen go out to walk the dogs in the woods the next day, Sam bitching about doing Dean’s chores for him, and it means that Dean spends the morning gathering up all his notebooks, including Sam’s notepad from last night, and reads them all as carefully as possible. They all say more or less the same thing.

The Empty wants quiet. The Empty wants peace. The Empty wants to be left alone.

When Sam and Eileen come back from the walk, they see Dean hunched over the table, staring into nothing as he looks at one of the notebooks.

“Dean?” He can hear how tentative Sam’s voice is. “You, uh. You good?”

“Yeah,” he answers distantly. “Yeah.” He snaps the notebook shut and speaks more decisively. “Yeah.” He stands up. “Okay, we’re going into the living room.”

Sam and Eileen exchange a look that they probably think Dean can’t see but follow him in, both of them sitting on the couch.

“Okay,” Eileen says. “Now what?”

“Hang on.” Dean looks up as he stands in the middle of the room. “Jack! I know you can hear me! Family meeting!”

There’s a soft whooshing sound and Jack walks out from the hallway to where the bedrooms go, sitting in the armchair to Eileen’s right. She absently gives him a pat on the shoulder, eyes still on Dean.

“So,” he says. “I’ve got a plan.”

The three of them lean forwards as one.

“Yeah?” Sam asks.

Dean turns to Jack. “Jack, can you get me in the door?” Jack hesitates. “If the answer’s no, it’s no, buddy, I’ll figure something out.”

“I think,” he says slowly. “That I could allow you in through a portal, yes.”

“And is there a surefire way to get me out?”

“A… tether might be an option.”

“Cool.” Dean claps his hands together. “I’m gonna go talk to it.”

Sam, Eileen, and Jack stare at him.

“And?” Sam asks.

“And that’s it. I’m gonna go talk to it.”

“With a special knife or something,” Eileen says.

“Nope.”

“This seems like…” Sam’s quiet, looking like he’s considering his words carefully. “The dumbest thing you could do.”

“Look, I’ve done a _lot_ of reading on the Empty. It wants quiet. It wants peace. Cas is probably not giving it any peace cause. Well. It’s Cas. So it might just want to boot him. And I can make my case.”

“What are you gonna do if it says no?”

Lose his mind. “Figure something else out.” Dean turns to Jack. “What do you think?”

Jack tilts his head, brow furrowed.

“I think we’re low on options,” he says finally. “And I think it’s worth a try.”

Dean grins and points at him. “That’s my guy.”

Sam and Eileen look at each other. Dean waits to see what they have to say, knowing there’s nothing either of them could tell him that’ll change his mind.

“Okay,” Eileen says. “Fuck it. Let’s go.”

“What do we need to do?” Sam asks.

There’s still something a little unnerving about the fact his kid can just… open a hole in reality.

Dean stares at the tear in the world that Jack’s made, shimmering around the edges with inky blackness in the middle. “No time limit?”

“No time limit,” Jack confirms, and then in a softer voice. “Be careful, Dean.”

Dean gives him a hug. “Course I’m careful. Careful’s my middle name.”

Sam and Eileen each give him a hug, and then he steps into the rip.

It’s dizzying how black the void is. He glances behind him to see the shimmer and notices a thin gold thread extending from it. When he follows it, he sees that thread wrapped around his waist.

 _Tether._ Right.

Dean walks into the Empty, glancing down at the tether every once in a while to remind himself that he’s not here permanently. He wants to call out, but if the Empty wants quiet, then it’s probably not the best foot to get off on.

There’s a soft _whoosh_ and Dean turns around.

Meg is lounging on a magnificent throne.

“Meg?” he asks, startled.

“Nah.” It grins at him. “I just like her face.”

“Oh.” He tries not to show how off putting that is. “Okay. Hi.”

“Dean Winchester.” The Empty folds its hands in its lap. “What do you want?”

“Cas.”

It rolls its eyes. “I’m _floored._ ”

Dean bites back the _why’d you even ask, then._ “I’m here to ask for him back.”

It settles into the throne a little further.

“And why would I do that?” It asks. “Because you’re going to ask nicely?”

“I mean. Kinda hoping it works in my favor.”

The Empty arches an eyebrow.

“Look. Your whole thing is you want quiet, right? You want peace? Are you getting any with Cas?”

The Empty’s face twists abruptly from the dryly amused expression to something suddenly bitterly furious, leaning forwards.

“It’s _your_ fault,” it hisses. “He won’t stay _down._ He won’t blend into the _rest_ of them. And it’s all because of _you_ and your _prayers._ You keep _screaming_ and he keeps _listening_.”

Cas can hear his prayers.

He’d hoped but he wasn’t sure.

Dean swallows.

“Right,” he says, a little unsteadily. “So it’s loud. If Cas comes with me, it stops being loud. And Cas, you know, he’s got an in with the man upstairs now, he ain’t ever coming back.” Even if Dean has to shake it into Jack. He doesn’t think he’ll have to. But he’s ready. “So if you let him come back, he’s gone from you, forever. And it’s quiet again. Forever.”

The Empty stares at him.

“So if I give you Feathers back, Clarence 2.0 makes sure he never comes back?”

“Right.”

It tilts its head.

“It occurs to me,” it answers. “That all of these problems are solved by me killing you right here.”

“Except it isn’t,” he counters immediately. “Because Jack is gonna pray to Cas for me every day if you do. And Jack’s gonna be around a _lot_ longer than I would, so that’s kinda worse.”

Its face twitches and it looks away.

“And if I don’t?”

“Then you don’t.” Then Dean figures out how to jailbreak him. He never stops trying. He goes until he’s dead. “Look.” He turns around slowly, arms held up at his sides. “No weapons.”

It looks amused. “No special gun? No cute little bomb? Nothing you would assume could kill me?”

Dean shrugs.

“I’m trying to be someone that somebody else thought I could be,” he answers.

The Empty rolls its eyes again. “Ugh. _Gross._ ” It leans back against its throne. “Tell you what. I’ll think about it.”

Dean wants to shake it, demand it give Cas back _now_ , but it’s not the game plan. It’s not how he gets him back.

“Okay,” he answers. “Thanks… for considering it. Can, uh.” He clears his throat. “Can I see him?” The look the Empty gives him is unimpressed. He wants to shake it again. “Okay. I’ll be… bye.”

Dean turns around and heads back where the tether leads him, trying not to think about the fact that he’s leaving Cas behind again.

 _It’s just temporary,_ he reminds himself. _It’s just temporary._

Dean finds the shimmer and steps back through it. The abrupt shift in worlds makes him stumble and Jack and Sam catch him by the arms, Eileen quickly pressing her hands against his front in case he falls over.

“What happened?” Sam asks. They all look a little crestfallen as they see he’s alone.

To what looks like their surprise, Dean grins.

“It didn’t say no,” he tells them. “And now we’re gonna wait.”

Waiting _sucks._

Sam and Eileen spend a good chunk of their three days visiting keeping an eye on him until he tells them to knock it off. Jack hugs him extra tight before he leaves. Sam actually leans back a little when he hugs him when they leave, which is one of Dean’s least favorite things because it requires him to stretch, but he tolerates it and promises the two of them that he’ll call if the Empty decides to let Cas go.

For the first time, the house feels unsettlingly empty.

But Dean tries to ignore that feeling. He takes Scrapper for walks, fixes a couple cars for the people in town, fishes, cleans the house, learns how to make potato and cheddar soup, and does his best to not think about it.

He dusts and sweeps Cas’s room, makes sure everything of Cas’s he brought back from the Bunker is positioned perfectly, and above all, he keeps praying.

“I’m thinking about expanding the amount of pies I make,” Dean tells Scrapper while he’s sweeping the porch. He’s taken a break from writing out recipes on index cards for the new recipe books. “I mean, apple, pumpkin, cherry, I got those _down_. But I like a good key lime pie, you know. Or a lemon meringue. I think I could handle a lemon meringue now.”

Scrapper stares at him, his stick in his mouth. Dean grins and takes it, tossing it into the woods. Scrapper charges after it.

He hears the noise of a truck in the distance and glances up. Cas’s truck is coming up the road. Dean isn’t that surprised- Jack’s held onto it. He’s not actually sure _where_ he’s been keeping it, but it doesn’t matter. He’d brought it to Dean for maintenance every once in a while, so he knows it’s in good shape. Jack parks about halfway down the road from where the cabin is. He’s not surprised about that, either. Jack likes the walk. He’s surprised he drove the truck in the first place. Maybe he wants him to take another look at it. He returns his attention to the porch as he hears the car door slam and Scrapper comes charging back to the porch with the stick.

“Gotta go back inside soon, buddy.” Dean takes the stick with a smile, though, and chucks it into the woods again. He leans the broom up against the wall. He’ll put it back in the shed later. “Hope you brought pie again, dude, that stuff you brought last time was-“ He turns to face the road.

Jack’s not alone. His stomach lurches as he grabs at one of the columns on the porch holding the roof up.

Jack and Cas walk towards the cabin, Cas dressed just like he ever is. When Cas sees him, he falters.

“Hello, Dean,” he says, voice thin and sounding dangerously close to cracking.

Dean takes a couple stumbling steps off the porch and Cas starts walking again, quicker this time.

It worked. He can’t believe it worked. It’s been one year and three months and it worked.

His knees buckle out from under him and his knees hit the dirt. Cas is jogging now and he skids along his knees to meet Dean on the ground. They collide with each other, chests bumping into each other as they hug tightly. He feels Cas bury his face in his shoulder and, a little dazedly, he puts a hand on the back of Cas’s head.

“No,” Jack says serenely. “No pie.”

Dean swallows, staring up at him, eyes wet.

“Thank you,” he manages.

Jack smiles.

“You don’t have to thank me for anything,” he says. “You’re the one who did it.”

Jack heads into the woods and Dean knows he won’t step back out of it. He’ll have to thank him again when he sees him.

Cas pulls back and Dean grins at him. Cas smiles a little weakly and leans forwards. His forehead bumps up against Dean’s and Dean just rests it there, sliding his hand to the back of his neck and closing his eyes.

It’s the closest he’s ever been to Cas.

They don’t move until something thwacks Dean in the arm.

“ _Ow,_ ” he says, jumping, looking to see that Scrapper’s just thwacked him with the stick. Scrapper drops it and looks at him expectantly. “Dude.”

Cas smiles and reaches out to scratch the top of Scrapper’s head. Scrapper happily noses at his hand. “Hello, Scrapper.”

“Come on.” Dean stands up and holds his hand out. “We should go inside.”

Cas reaches and Dean grasps him around the elbow to help him up. He releases him but drifts his arm against Cas’s. Their hands brush a little and instead of pulling back like Dean’s done any time this has happened in the past, he lets them rest there.

Cas sits at the dining room table, looking out the window while Dean gets him a glass of water. He gently puts it down next to him and sits in the chair next to him.

“I like seeing the robins,” he says. Dean grins.

“Wait til you see the bluejays,” he answers. “I’m thinking about getting a second birdfeeder to hang just outside the window.”

“I like bluejays.” He looks back at Dean with a faint smile. “Thank you for the water.”

“Are you hungry?”

“Jack insisted that we stop for lunch on the way.” Dean can read the tone in his voice clearly, that if he’d had his way they would have come right here, and his heart swells.

“Well. I’m glad you ate, at least.” Dean considers. “And I’m glad Jack kept your truck.”

Cas’s smile widens a little. “Me, too. I like my truck.” He looks around. “It’s nice here. I pictured it nice but it’s nicer.”

“Yeah. I’m pretty happy with it.”

Scrapper comes up and nudges Cas’s hand where it’s resting on his thigh. Cas reaches out and pets him. “You have a good dog. I fail to see why you’re up in arms about Charlie and Jack calling him Scraps.”

“His _name_ is _Scrapper._ ”

“I like Scraps.”

Well. Cas could call him Scraps.

They sit in comfortable silence for a minute.

“So,” Dean says eventually. “Are you… okay?”

Cas considers, his smile becoming a little wryer.

“Are _any_ of us okay?”

“…fair enough.”

“You seem… more okay.” Cas watches Scrapper leave. “I’m glad.”

Dean looks at Scrapper, too, because suddenly it’s just a little easier than looking at Cas.

“I have your stuff,” he says. “It’s, uh.” He wishes he had his own water. His throat feels a little dry. “It’s everything I could find, it’s, um.” He stands because he doesn’t know what else to do. “The rooms are that way, there’s mine, and there’s a guest room, and there’s, uh, there’s yours, you know, if you want to stay. You could, um.” He runs a hand through his hair. “You could… you could, if you wanted to.”

Cas is staring at him like he’s not quite sure what’s happening. “If I wanted to what?”

“Stay. If you wanted to stay, you could stay. I, um. I… want you to stay.”

They stare at each other.

“I want to stay,” Cas whispers.

Relief blossoms in Dean’s chest. “…okay. Okay.” He sits on the floor cause he’s out of ideas again, crossing his legs a little and resting his feet against the floor so his bent knees are slightly upright.

Cas swallows.

“It’s easy to speak when you don’t know if anyone is listening,” he says. “I would understand.”

“I said what I said because I meant it.”

Cas looks like he’s unwilling to allow himself the relief yet, but there’s a little something like hope there.

“It’s easy to say stuff when you think you’re about to die,” Dean tells him, because he has to. If Cas was willing to give him the out, he has to give him the out. “I’d get it.”

Cas gains a faint smile.

“I said what I said because I meant it,” he answers.

Dean takes a breath.

“Okay,” he manages. “Cool.”

“The Empty…” Cas looks down at his lap. “Released me but kept my Grace. I won’t be…”

“I didn’t want you cause of that, dumbass.” Dean can’t help it. He may have mellowed with age, and _especially_ mellowed in the past year, but he hasn’t mellowed that much. “I wanted you cause you’re you. All this means is that we don’t know who’s gonna die first anymore.”

Cas makes a choking noise and Dean’s about to apologize for the shit joke but then the choking evolves into laughing, shaking his head.

“That is awful,” he mumbles.

Dean grins at him. “It’s true, though.”

“It’s a very you approach to this. I don’t know what I expected.”

“Hey, man. I am who I am.”

Cas looks up with a smile. “I like who you are.”

It almost knocks Dean back literally on his heels. “Yeah,” he whispers. “I know. I like who you are, too.”

Cas’s smile softens and they could have been doing this for years, Dean thinks. If either of them had pulled their heads out of their asses, they could have been doing this for years.

But maybe it doesn’t matter. They’re doing it now. They’ll be doing it the rest of their lives. They’ll be doing it after.

Dean hesitantly raises himself up a little. Cas goes very still, but doesn’t move away. Slowly, Dean leans in.

It’s a short kiss, all things considered. Dean feels a little fragile right now, knows Cas does too, and feels like anything else might just crack the both of them. Dean puts his hand against Cas’s neck. Cas gently covers it with his own.

It’s small. It’s enough.

When Cas leans back a little, his cheeks are a little pink. Dean finds it kinda endearing.

“I like your reading glasses,” Cas tells him.

“Need ‘em to see,” he answers, which is a pretty dumb response, but he’s gonna cut himself a little slack on this one.

“Yes.” Cas looks amused. “I gathered.”

The position he’s in is currently pretty untenable as far as his body goes. “Alright, Cas, you gotta help me up here, this hurts and it sucks.”

Cas rolls his eyes but holds out his hand. Dean takes it and the two of them haul each other up. Cas doesn’t let go of Dean’s hand. Dean doesn’t pull it away.

“So what do you want to do?” Dean asks as they look around, leaning against the dining room table. “We’ve still got Charlie’s magic credit card. We can do whatever you want.”

Cas thinks it over.

“I think, perhaps,” he says, just a little bit too dry to be convincingly earnest. “It may be time for a wardrobe change.”

“What, twelve years of the same look was a little too much for you?”  
“A little, yes.”

“Well.” Dean mulls it over. “Town doesn’t have a lot in the way of clothes shops, but there’s a mall about an hour and a half away. I know you ate, but I didn’t, so if we swing through town so I can get a sandwich, we can get on the road pretty quick.”

“What were you going to do today?”

“Doesn’t matter.” Dean squeezes his hand. “This is what I want to do now.”

Cas smiles. “Then I think this is what we should do.”

“Awesome.” Dean tugs the glasses off and rests them on the breakfast bar. “I’ll get my keys. You sure you don’t mind being in a car all day again?”

“No.” Cas picks the keys off the little hook on the wall Dean puts them on as Dean grabs his wallet. “I won’t mind at all.”

“Oh, shit.” Dean grabs his phone, too. “We’re gonna need to call Sam and Eileen on the way, he’ll never let me hear the end of it if I don’t let him know sooner.”

“I’ll call.”

Dean grins as they step off the porch. “I’m gonna have to do the initial call cause otherwise Sam’s gonna get a call from my phone and you’re gonna answer and it’s gonna freak him the fuck out.”

Cas looks amused as he opens up the shotgun door to the Impala. “You would think that it’s hilarious.”

“Yeah, but, I’m gonna be the better man for once and go the high road.” Dean shuts his door.

“Just to spite him?”

He turns the car on. “Shut up.” Cas reaches the radio before he does and, a little reluctantly, Dean lets him. He’s been stuck in the Empty for a year. He’s allowed to pick the radio.

When Cas has landed on a Top 40 station (something that’s gonna have to change around the first hour of the trip, Dean’s not _that_ generous), he takes Dean’s hand. Dean grins a little out the windshield, wondering if there’s anything he can catch Cas up to date on that he doesn’t already know.

It’s gonna be a good day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come find me @ cosmicoceanfic on tumblr!
> 
> Dean’s glasses


	2. two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cas POV!

Castiel survives by the sound of Dean’s voice.

It is easy, to sink into the blackness of the Empty. A flat misery, submerged in an exhaustion and despair that makes it almost logical to fall into, to become one with.

Except he can’t. He gets raised out of the River Lethe by one man, time and time again.

_I got a dog today, Cas! His name’s Scrapper. He’s a champion. He keeps biting at me, but puppies do that, I just gotta discourage him cause you don’t want it to become a habit. Sam makes fun of me because I keep making it look like he’s boxing with his paws, but c’mon, it’s_ **_funny_ ** _, Sam’s just got no sense of humor._

_You should see it, Cas. It looks good. It’s by a lake. There’s a little dock. Did you like fishing? We’ll go fishing together, if you want. Maybe you could swim. I dunno. I don’t remember if you were ever a swimmer._

_I’m working on the cabin. I really want a good kitchen. I’m thinking I’m gonna be learning how to cook. I mean, I know how to cook and I cooked in the bunker, but I want to really get into it. Might even buy some cookbooks. Gonna wait until I’ve finished fixing up the cabin, though. I was thinking I’d get a breakfast bar. I always thought they were kinda dumb but I’m gonna be using the table for research for a little while and the dining room table is only really gonna be good for when I have a bunch of people over. I got a really good table, Cas. It’s huge. Made of solid oak. Kinda rustic. I like that I get to just… pick out furniture now. Turns out I’ve got opinions about it. You’ll like it._

Dean talks to him every single day. Several times a day. And whenever he does, Castiel becomes aware of himself again, aware that he exists, that there is someone out there that cares about him. He listens to every prayer. He listens about Dean’s birdfeeders, about the right couch for the living room, about fishing, about how the town seems to think he’s a little weird but they’re nice, about how he’s gonna bring him back, about how Sam’s bringing him new books and Bobby’s bringing him new books and he keeps taking notes and it’s gonna be fine, and he’s gonna like the cabin, he’s gonna like the lake, he’s gonna like the town, he’s gonna like everything and anything he doesn’t like they’ll fix.

He can’t believe he’ll succeed but he can believe Dean does and he believes that Dean will pray to him every day that he’s alive, and one day the prayers will stop coming and he will know Dean is dead and it will crush him for the rest of eternity, but for now he has them, and every time he gets one he resurfaces and he clings to the sound of Dean’s voice, to the story of his new life.

Dean sounds wonderful. He sounds at peace, and even when Castiel is drifting in the water, even when he lays in the stream and is permeated by melancholy, sometimes he will think of Dean, and his cabin, and his dog.

One day, at some point (time is so hard to tell here), Dean tells him all he would have had to do is ask, and if he had a heart he would feel it in his throat, and if he had a body he would use it to crawl to the Empty that is wearing his friend’s face and he would beg to be allowed home.

But Castiel has none of these things, and so he just lays in the water and thinks of Dean, who is not drinking, Dean, who loves his son, Dean, who plays with his dog, Dean, with the wonderful ordinary life he has always deserved and finally gets to have.

_I figured it out, Cas. I took my shot. We just gotta wait, but it’s gonna happen. I swear, one way or another, it’s gonna happen._

Castiel doesn’t know what that means. He hears the hope in Dean’s voice and is glad for it. He thinks about a cabin by a lake, and wonders what it would be like to sit on the edge of the dock and stare out at the water and the trees.

And then, a certain amount of time after that, Castiel has a form again.

It’s so disconcerting that it takes him what he thinks may be a couple seconds to regain his bearings. The void is around him but the river is gone. He is standing on his own two feet, and he is aware that he exists in a way he hasn’t in quite some time, and in front of him sits the Empty on its throne.

“Morning, Clarence,” it says.

“What’s-“ he manages. “Why’s-“

“Your boyfriend should’ve been a lawyer.” It swirls its Chardonnay. “Very persuasive.”

“What-“

“I’m keeping your Grace. That’s mine now. You know, I think I’ve earned it.” It raises its hand. “Goodbye, Clarence. And it had better be forever. I was promised.”

It flicks its pointer finger off its thumb and Castiel goes shooting backwards, only to land on the ground with a thump.

The sun is bright. It’s bright in a way he hasn’t seen in a while and he squeezes his eyes shut. His heart is pounding for the first time in a while. His lungs are going. He can feel the sun on his skin. It’s disorienting. He lets himself adjust slowly and when he feels capable, he opens his eyes again.

He’s landed in a cornfield. He doesn’t know where he is but knows it can’t be anything other than Earth. He makes his way to his feet and just starts stumbling in front of him, hoping that the end of the field is nearby somewhere. Eventually he can see blue sky and a road poking around the edges of the corn and makes his way out, coming to a stop abruptly at the edge.

Jack is standing on the opposite side of the road by his truck, watching him.

He raises his hand in that way of waving but not waving that he does. “Hello, Castiel.”

Castiel doesn’t even have words. Instead he just stumbles forwards as Jack walks towards him at the same time and catches him in a hug, almost too relieved to stand up. He knew Jack was okay, knew it from all Dean’s prayers, but there’s a vast amount of difference between knowing and seeing.

“Jack,” he manages.

“I’m glad you’re out.” Jack pulls back, smiling. “Dean was very persistent.”

“Yes.” Castiel feels a little dazed by everything that’s gone on in the past ten minutes. “Dean does that.”

“I kept it in good condition for you.” Jack gestures at the truck. “Dean made sure to look it over every time I brought it to him. I can drive, if you’re still disoriented. Dean and Sam have both given me lessons.”

“Sam has his own car now?” Castiel asks, which isn’t really the takeaway but is one of the things that manages to penetrate the confusion of _I’m alive_ and _my son is here_ and _Dean has been looking after my car._

“He has a Prius. Dean thinks it’s ridiculous.” Jack nods sagely. “I’ll drive.”

Castiel hops in the shotgun seat and Jack starts the car.

“Are you…” Castiel knows the answer to this question but still feels he should ask.

“Yes.” Jack shrugs. “But I’ve decided to talk about it very little.”

“Okay.” Fair enough, he supposes. “Am I human?”

“Yes.”

Castiel looks out the window. Mixed blessing, he thinks. Leaving his Grace behind is what got him out but perhaps, well. Perhaps things will have changed with Dean over it. He becomes suddenly aware that he’s starving, his stomach growling, and decides just as suddenly to keep his mouth shut over it. He’ll eat something when he finds Dean.

“You’re hungry,” Jack observes cheerfully. “We’ll stop.”

Castiel frowns. “It can wait.”

“No, it can’t. Your body is new. Your stomach is empty and the cabin is a couple hours away. We’ll need to stop.” Castiel glowers. Jack seems unconcerned. “There’s a diner down the road. We’ll go there.”

Castiel orders blueberry pancakes, an omelet, and home fries. Jack orders chocolate chip pancakes and sips at his lemonade.

Castiel keeps staring at his hand. He remembers, once, being in his true form, larger than life. Now he can’t even imagine what that feels like, being any size other than he is right now. He delicately wraps his hand around his water glass, can feel how cool it is. Nothing feels any different.

“It’s real.”

Castiel looks up. “What?”

Jack points at his hand with his fork. “Your body. It’s real. I made it myself. I thought you’d prefer to look how you always looked.”

“Yes. I would.” Castiel takes a sip of his water. “Does Dean know?”

“No. I thought we could show up at the cabin. I think it may panic him less for us to simply arrive as opposed to him having to drive out.”

“How did he do it?”

“He asked.”

Castiel blinks. “He what?”

“He came to the Empty and asked.” Jack beams at the water as he arrives with their huge amount of food. “Thank you!”

He smiles. “Must have been hungry, huh?”

“Yes. My father has had a long day.” Jack helps orient the plates close to Castiel. “Thank you for your assistance.” The waiter leaves and Jack smiles at Castiel. “I really like tipping. I figure a lot is better than a little, they seem to have real joy when it’s a lot.”

“He _asked?_ ” Castiel still feels a little stuck on that as he fumbles for his silverware.

“Yes. We were… skeptical. But a little proud of him, I think.”

Castiel is proud of him, too. Someday he’s going to tell Dean how proud.

He has the chance to tell Dean anything, now.

“How long was I gone?”

“One year, three months, two days.” Jack takes a bite of his pancakes. “Dean asked the Empty three weeks ago.”

“Don’t chew with your mouth open,” Castiel says absently as he cuts into his omelet. One year, three months, two days. Dean prayed to him every day for one year, three months, and two days.

Maybe he didn’t mean it.

It’s easy to speak when you don’t know if anybody’s listening. It’s easy to vent like that. Castiel had suspected, when he’d had the energy to suspect, that Dean did that sometimes, that talking to him was more out of a need to talk than a need to talk to him. He’s going to have to let him know it’s all right if he didn’t mean it. Let him know that he can keep his feelings to himself, find a place on his own, nearby, if Dean wants, and it will be fine.

Jack is watching him.

“What?”

Jack drinks some more lemonade.

“I don’t think you should worry about it,” he says.

“Worry about what?”

“Dean.” Castiel narrows his eyes. “Dean likes to ask sometimes if I’m doing-“ he raises his fingers like he’s going to make air quotes but he doesn’t bend his fingers, just keeps them up. “ _Some sneaky God shit_ -“ he lowers his fingers. “Whenever I do that, but I’m not. I just know all your faces. And that’s your worrying about Dean face.”

“I’m not worried,” Castiel says. “I am… contemplative.”

“Then I don’t think you should be contemplative, either. He’s going to be very excited to see you. He wouldn’t have a room for you if he didn’t.”

Castiel’s stomach swoops. “He has a room for me?”

Jack looks immediately guilty, like he didn’t know he wasn’t supposed to say that. “Oh. Um. No?”

Dean’s got a room for him.

It’s got to count for something.

Castiel eats his food with a little more heart in it. It goes pretty quickly. He _is_ starving.

The drive over is mostly spent quiet. Jack plays Carly Rae Jepsen over the radio. Castiel watches the landscape out the window buzz by.

“So Sam and Eileen have a dog?” Castiel asks eventually, feeling a little guilty he hasn’t asked after Sam earlier. He knows this. But he needs to ask something and he doesn’t know where to start.

“Yes. Teresa. She’s a very good dog. Dean is perturbed by the fact she has a human name.”

“Yes.” Castiel feels his lips twitch as he remembers Dean’s vaguely irritable prayer on the subject. “I know.”

“They have a little home and they’re going to go back to school. They want real jobs. I’m happy for them. Retirement suits them. Eileen is going to propose to Sam.” He looks over at Castiel sternly. “But I am not supposed to know that.”

Castiel lets his expression form into a smile now. “I won’t tell.”

“Good.”

“What do you do?”

“I wander.” Jack smiles. “I do a lot of work remaking Heaven. It should be a proper Heaven. The kind where you can go anywhere you want. But when I want a break, I wander. And I come to see Sam and Eileen and Dean.”

“Wandering sounds nice.”

“It is.” Jack takes a turn up a long road. “I thought about asking them if they wished to accompany me at any point, but I travel in a different way than they would, and I think they’ve had enough of travel anyway. It’s time to put down real roots. Sam and Eileen are in a nice little house square in the middle of a town and Dean is out this way, and everyone in the towns that know them thinks they are a little strange but kind. It’s the sort of life they’ve earned.”

“Do lots of people know them?”

“Sam and Eileen’s town is bigger and they’ve made friends. Dean lives all the way out here and he’s got his hunter friends but the people in town like him and he likes them. He spends some time with the mechanic and her friends sometimes.” Castiel can see in the distance a cabin approaching and something in his chest tightens. “He likes the quiet.” Jack looks over at him and sees the expression on his face. “Are you ready for this?”

Castiel nods mutely.

“Would you like to stop here and we can walk the rest of the way?”

Castiel nods again. Seems easier somehow.

Jack stops the car and they get out.

It is a good cabin, Castiel thinks. Surrounded by woods and lake, the exact sort of place he would have pictured Dean in. It’s wonderful, but not as wonderful as what he can see right now.

Dean seems calmer, even just looking at him. He’s sweeping his porch off, reading glasses perched on his nose, jeans and a black tee shirt with a red flannel thrown over it. There’s something in the way he holds himself that’s different, something a little looser. He doesn’t look quite so haggard anymore, so dragged down by the world. A Border Collie that must be Scrapper comes charging up with a stick and Dean grins. The force of it makes Castiel want to stagger.

“Gotta go back inside soon, buddy,” he says, and just hearing his voice in person feels like it would be enough to have helped Castiel survive the Empty for another year. He chucks the stick into the woods again and puts the broom against the wall. “Hope you brought pie again, dude, that stuff you brought last time was-“ He turns to face them, still grinning, and stops dead. His hand lunges out to grab at the column on the porch and when he does Castiel can feel himself slow down a little, thrown by the fact of their eyes meeting.

“Hello, Dean,” he says, hearing how fragile his own voice sounds, and feeling everything slide into place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of this story but I may have a second one that comes next, if I can ever finish it.


End file.
